


the historiography of a heart

by perennials



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, chillin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-07-02 14:01:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15798000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perennials/pseuds/perennials
Summary: Call it compensation, if you will— Oikawa has always lived for the tangible cheer in the air. It buoys him up, makes him brighter and sparklier, like a passing comet in the night sky. Call it compensation.Hajime calls it hide-and-seek.





	the historiography of a heart

Oikawa Tooru is terrible. He is stubbornly loud on Monday mornings when the world is still trying very hard to wake up, he wears mismatched socks on accident and then insists it is fashion; he is kind. He orders six-scoop monstrosities on the rare occasions when the team goes out to the ice cream parlor near the train station and whines about it until Hajime finishes it for him, and then calls Hajime a monster for doing so. He sneezes with his mouth open.

 

In other words, Oikawa Tooru is terrible. He is so kind to the world that there is nothing left for himself. Too often, Hajime has to bite his lip to hold back the tidal wave of frustration that builds up in his chest, stuck on the crest of what looks a little like heartbreak.

 

Other times, Hajime chooses  _ not  _ to listen to the voice of reason, which he still has, unlike Oikawa.

 

Other times, Hajime chooses. Hajime makes decisions, like the responsible eighteen year old he is. He closes a hand around Oikawa’s wrist and stops him from flapping his arms all over the place the way he does when he’s trying to make up for the lack of tangible cheer in the air, and then yanks Oikawa closer.

 

Call it compensation, if you will— Oikawa has always lived for the tangible cheer in the air. It buoys him up, makes him brighter and sparklier, like a passing comet in the night sky. Call it compensation. Hajime calls it hide-and-seek.

 

Anyway, Hajime does this sometimes, because he isn’t as good with his words as Oikawa is, and his argumentative essays somehow never turn out properly convincing (for this reason, Kawanishi-sensei is always disappointed). Hajime speaks with his actions, with his hands, palms rough from years of practice and expression stubbornly calm in spite of it all.

 

He grabs Oikawa’s wrist. It is Thursday evening. The neighborhood cats have all slunk off into the shade, awaiting the cold mantle of night.

 

Oikawa turns towards him, the way Oikawa has always turned towards him, in the familiar darkness of his bedroom, their chubby, child-soft hands twined together; in the hallways at school, wearing a smile like a light drizzle in August; on the court, eyes flashing like fireworks in the glare of the lights overhead.

 

Oikawa turns towards Hajime like a blurry classroom daydream. The whole sun-kissed heart of him, not quite here.

 

“Feeling lonely, Iwa-chan?” He asks, voice strained almost unnoticeably under the thin veneer of everything that constitutes Oikawa Tooru on the outside. Everything that is glamorous, glittering, gold. Voice strained so quietly it’s barely a passing cloud, that Hajime only catches it because he has spent his whole life doing so.

 

Catching things, catching feelings, catching up to Oikawa on the sidewalk, arms spread like the wings of an airplane.

 

Hajime does not give him the satisfaction of replying. Instead, very gently, he begins to rub circles into Oikawa’s wrist with his thumb.

 

He does this for a while. Until the taut line of Oikawa’s shoulders loosens, until the evening glow returns to his eyes, until he drifts back down to earth. An astronaut pulled out of orbit, Oikawa stands in the middle of the street, motionless. Hajime stays with him.

 

When the passing comet has finished running its trajectory, it disappears behind the curved smile-surface of the earth. Out of sight, a cat mewls. Oikawa looks at Hajime, really looks at him, and then he looks away.

 

Eighteen is a strange place to be; they all carry it as best as they can.

 

“Take me to the ice cream parlor?” He says, lovely and lilting. It is Thursday evening, and they are both tired, the mismatched socks under the hem of Oikawa’s pant legs slip-sliding down his pretty pale ankles. Hajime could be anywhere in the world right now; he could be fast asleep. He will not be. He will stay.

 

He doesn’t say anything still, because he is not as good with his words as Oikawa is and his argumentative essays still aren’t quite convincing yet, and he probably needs to see Kawanishi-sensei before the end-of-term exams come crashing in through the haze of volleyballs and white lights and salonpas. He doesn’t say anything, and he doesn’t need to. Oikawa waits, like he always does.

 

They have spent their whole lives being _always,_ being here, being crayon figures on the sidewalk that wait for the other to catch up before turning the bend.

 

Hajime doesn’t say anything, but he lets go of Oikawa’s wrist. He holds onto his sun-kissed heart.

 

And then they are off. Young and eighteen and terribly, terribly in love with the world, and each other, and maybe themselves. One day, maybe themselves.

**Author's Note:**

> [talk to me](https://twitter.com/nikiforcvs)
> 
>  
> 
> you know i talk. 2 much. come and get a little HI THERE i've been doing twitter prompts to procrastinate from the great big map of everything (my kurotsuki fic which i will recommend if you enjoy my cryptically purple style of writing. also it has a plot) so here is another one of those prompts.  
> thank you for reading! kudos, comments, and bookmarks are always deeply appreciated.
> 
> have a good one


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